


The Opposite of a Smile

by emmykay



Series: Boys of Summer [2]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Character Study, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmykay/pseuds/emmykay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abe wasn't a smiler.  Mihashi found him difficult to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of a Smile

Mihashi loved being on the pitcher's mound. Loved it. Even though he wasn't smart, wasn't fast, wasn't big, wasn't strong, and probably didn't belong there, he was selfish about his position there. He had everybody's attention then. When he was on the mound, he was somebody. People looked at him. He was the king of the hill. He could control things. He had everybody's attention then, even if he hadn't deserve it. 

Hatake made sure Mihashi knew he didn't deserve it. Mihashi agreed. He knew that Mihoshi's terrible losses during all those years in middle school were his fault. He had failed at being a king. People were glad when he stepped off the pitcher's mound and became nothing, with nobody having to look at him. Nobody really cared about him, his pitching, anymore, so he left his old school to come to Nishiura. To start over. To leave behind his history of failure.

Then he met Abe, who wanted him, who didn't care about what he had done at his old school. Who cared only about what he, Abe, had seen Mihashi do on that first day. Who said startlingly positive things about what Mihashi had thought were his worst traits. Who had said that Mihashi could become an ace, as long as he followed Abe's rules. Mihashi was more than willing.

Abe gave him his full attention, all the time. Abe gave him support, made sure he ate, had a clean shirt, stayed hydrated. While Mihashi knew other people might be resentful of these sorts of attentions, he loved it. If the price for this kind of attention was his obedience, then he was glad to pay. Mihashi liked pleasing people, Abe most of all. (Mihashi liked people, for all they alarmed, scared and startled him, Abe especially.) Especially when Nishiura won.

So Mihashi tried to keep doing the things that pleased Abe. It hard to tell if it was working. Mihashi found him difficult to read.

Abe wasn't a smiler. Abe's face, when it wasn't stretched into the sort of grimace that frightened small children (or, honestly, Mihashi), would settle into a kind of straight-lipped, hooded watchfulness. Abe's mouth was a poor indicator of his mood; if it wasn't hidden behind the catcher's mask, it was often behind his hands. Abe's face, at the best of times, was the opposite of a smile. Which could suddenly turn crazy-eyed, accompanied by a deeply angry slash of mouth. The kind that, Mihashi knew from experience at Mihoshi, prefaced an ugly fist fight. 

When Mihashi didn't know any better, he had thought Abe was half-asleep a lot of the time. The droopy eyelids. Then he started to watch Abe's eyes. His eyes gave him away. Never dreamy, always sharp, intensely focused. So much stuff went on in Abe's head, Mihashi couldn't even imagine. Numbers upon numbers, ability to remember plays, names and dates. 

Mihashi knew he wasn't smart. Not like Hanai or Nishihiro. He wasn't even capable of occasional swiftness; not like Tajima or Izumi. He wasn't jealous. He was always surprised and often quite pleased for the things those people remembered and thought about and spoke of. Especially when they talked to him about those things. Abe most of all. That is, when Abe wasn't coming up from behind and scaring the snot out of him. Not that he meant to. Mihashi was pretty certain, anyway.

And then Abe's voice. Mihashi shivered at even thinking about that voice, which could turn from a teacherly kind of drone into a booming yell, from zero to 150km per hour, right in the face. There were other times, though, when Abe was just talking to him, when the words came out clear from Abe's mouth to his ear and straight to his brain - that it was the voice Mihashi never wanted to stop talking to him. When Abe spoke to him, really spoke to him, it was like words were coming together so well, that Abe was making sure Mihashi understood them, making hard things easy and the opaque suddenly, stunningly clear. 

Mihashi knew Abe was lots of things he wasn't, besides being smart and outspoken. Abe wasn't soft, or weak, not like Mihashi was. Abe wouldn't have let himself get bullied. Abe was unyielding and strong, like a wall. Not something to climb, or use to get to someplace else, but to depend on, to lean against. Rock-steady in his position behind home plate, as if gravity held him in place better than other people. Sometimes, Mihashi wanted to hide behind him, but Abe wouldn't let that happen - yet Abe would never let Mihashi be alone, not like he was in middle school. He had been so alone then. Even though Ruri and his aunt and Kanou were friendly, it wasn't like they were able to be with him or understand what it was like.

Abe didn't understand a lot of times, either. But Abe kept trying, even if it made him mad. He knew, like Mihashi knew, that they were yoked together in a partnership that would pull them and the team forward. He believed in Abe, and Abe believed in him. Trusted in him to pitch, to win. He wanted to win, for its own sake, but he also wanted to win. For Abe. With Abe.

_I receive the ball and look at Abe...and he gives me a sign._

There was a depth Abe's eyes - the look Mihashi was most familiar with was the one that he saw behind the catcher's mask, the dark grey-green eyes intent, focusing on him. 

He had Abe's full attention. And when Abe looked at him - Mihashi couldn't think of anything better. Because Abe saw him. Really saw him. Abe didn't see the nervousness, the hurt, and lack of confidence. Abe only saw him as he was, the pitcher on the mound. His pitcher.

Abe saw him when he was off the pitcher's mound as well. And that was all Mihashi wanted, to be the center of somebody's focus - to be seen. He thought so, for a while, even though he was afraid he was a burden, but Abe had built this wall and it was safe and good inside. He wanted to give more to Abe than simple obedience; but he didn't know what he could give. He just want there to be more, a little little bit more, that he could give. 

Then Abe wasn't there. Mihashi had been stripped of anything that had helped him and exposed rudely to the elements. 

Then Tajima was there, and while he was unable to build a defense like Abe, he had helped Mihashi see that maybe a wall wasn't always the best thing. Sometimes, a wall stopped you from talking. Sometimes, Mihashi wanted to talk, as well as listen and obey. Not be a burden, not make Abe carry him all the time. The best thing would be to have a window through the wall.

If Abe and he worked at the wall, maybe that window would open wider, let in the sunshine and the air.

Nervously, Mihashi told Abe what he wanted, what he thought they could do if they talked to each other. At Mihoshi, maybe Mihashi hadn't deserved to be the ace. Not then. But he did now, with Abe. He would work to be the best he could be, and he could help Abe, and the rest of the team, win. They would do better, work harder, and be the best team they could be.

Amazingly, Abe had agreed. _Count me in, too._ And there was that smile that wasn't a smile, that was Abe's own.


End file.
